Shards of a Dream
by SwirlyBifocal
Summary: A story following the events of Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood.  Desmond Miles awakes in a strange, unknown place. Lucy Stillman is alive. Ezio Auditore da Firenze and Altaïr ibn La-Ahad are seeing strange images of a city unlike anything they've ever seen
1. Chapter I

**A/N:** This is my first fanfiction I'm publishing on here, so I'm still tinkering around with things and figuring it all out, so I apologize in advance for that. Also, thanks to Hodgepodge11 for stepping up to the task and agreeing to beta this... Whatever it is that this may turn into.

**Disclaimer:** Legally, I own nothing but the mistakes (And please, by all means, take them and use them how you will).

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**Chapter I**

Desmond Miles bolted upright, eyes wide, and the image of Lucy Stillman's eyes as the blade punctured her stomach burned in his memory forever. He brought a hand up to rub his forehead, closing his eyes as he tried to think and ignore the memory that continued to replay over in his mind like a broken DVD.

Where was he? He glanced around and realized he had no idea and couldn't answer that question.

Where were Shaun and Rebecca? Again, no matter how hard he thought and tried to remember, he couldn't. Those voices… He could remember voices. He'd been on the border of consciousness, but just as he had been preparing to reenter reality, he'd been thrown back out of it. He couldn't remember anything but those voices after he'd fallen unconscious.

He laid back down, hitting his head roughly against the smooth flooring beneath him, though not hard enough to harm himself, clenching his eyes shut again.

He couldn't remember anything after he had killed Lucy… After Juno had made him kill Lucy. He gritted his teeth together and balled his hands into fists as he let the admittance of his action run circles through his head.

_I killed Lucy. She's dead because of me. I couldn't save her._

Would she ever forgive him, in life or death, for what he had done? Did she know that he hadn't meant for it to happen? Could he ever forgive himself for letting it happen? He couldn't blame it all on Juno. He had grabbed the Apple. He could have chosen not to, he could have let Shaun finish his explanation and let the team figure something out together, _as a team_, but instead he had decided to ignore Shaun and do his own thing.

Now, because of him, Lucy Stillman was dead.

She had been the mastermind. Without her, Desmond would still be in Abstergo, or six feet under, most probably the latter, and there would be no one standing in Abstergo's way.

Desmond opened his eyes slowly. Dead or alive, Lucy wouldn't want him sulking, wouldn't want him lying there in self-pity. She would probably have yelled at him for doing just that and would have given him a good quick in the butt for wasting so much time already.

He pushed himself slowly into a sitting position as he let his mind wander over his possibilities and options. He looked around again, only more carefully this time.

_What would Ezio do? What would Altaïr do?_ He asked himself. He scanned the room for every detail, every flaw, every_thing_. That's when he realized there was nothing. The floor was the same as the walls, the walls the same as the ceiling. The only reason he could tell which of the six sides was the ceiling was due to the fact that there was a tube of white neon-light around the edge of the ceiling, which convinced him that he was on the floor and not delusional.

Other than that square band of light, there was no difference between the six sides of the cube that made up his prison. They were all white, smooth, and cold. There wasn't even a bed. The floor was vacant of anything, save for himself, as were the walls. He couldn't even tell if there was a crease for a door in the wall or not. All the tiles that made up the floor, walls, and ceiling were evenly spaced and all seemed to be exactly the same size.

Desmond frowned thoughtfully.

"Where the _hell_ am I?" He muttered as he pushed himself to his feet slowly.

**III**

He looked up at his destination through dark eyes, plotting a path from where he was to where he needed to get, his hands gripping the cold stone of the cliff's face. He refused to look down, even to gauge how far he had come. He was not afraid to fall, he never was, but to look down would be to doubt himself, it would be a sign of weakness. He strived to have no weakness, he had no doubt in himself, and he feared nothing.

It had been one year since he had successfully hid the Apple after the battle with the man he had trusted, his mentor, his master, and his leader. He had trusted no one else with the location, not even himself. If you asked him to point to the location on a map, he could not do it. He had not thought about where he had been heading, he had not been looking for anywhere in particular. Something else had been guiding him. He couldn't even remember his path. The only thing he was sure was that the Apple would not be found unless the gods wished it. He was sure of that.

He had tried to destroy it, to no avail, and he refused to use it. The Apple held power that no man could rightfully wield. It was not something that belonged in this world. It was a tool of the gods, and if they so wished for a servant of theirs to use it, it would no longer be his problem, and he wished that it would never have anything to do with himself ever again.

Altaïr reached the edge of the cliff sooner than he had expected, not realizing that he had been moving as fast as he had whilst he had been thinking. He peered over the edge to make sure there were no guards stationed here, simply out of precaution, before he silently and swiftly pulled himself up in one quick motion and ducked behind a nearby boulder.

There were not supposed to be any guards on this side of the fortress. They did not expect anyone to come from the cliffs, which led to untamed waters below. They did not expect as trained an assassin as Altaïr, clearly.

He had already reconnaissance the area a few days earlier, which was how he knew there were to be no guards near the cliff's edge.

Altaïr lifted himself a few inches to peer over his shoulder, and the boulder, not making too much movement incase there were guards looking in his general direction.

The fortress was simple enough. A general of the European army had overstayed his welcome in the Holy Land, and he, along with a number of armed forced, were stationed in this fortress. The general had spent his time here torturing priests and monks for reasons no one was certain of. Rumor was that he simply found enjoyment out of proving that their god was not going to save them, that their god was 'nonexistent', and that, even in the 'Holy Land', there was nothing Holy about them, their god, or anything in the land they fought so desperately to protect. It was said that if the priest or monk turned away from their one true God, the general would release them. If not, the priest or monk was killed, the body burned, and all historic records of the victim were destroyed and anyone who dared refer to them as a 'martyr' was also killed. The unfortunate holy men simply ceased to exist.

Altaïr positioned himself into a crouching position, ready to sprint towards the wall of the Fortress, slowing his breathing until his body was as still as the boulder behind him. His eyes were closed as he, once more, went over his planned route. This 'general' was a monster, Altaïr was positive he was not working under any orders from any European leadership and was simply doing these horrendous things out of boredom, or something just as petty.

Altaïr breathed slowly, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn't looking out over the sea that he had come from, but was looking at a strange… City. Not of his world, with unimaginably tall buildings, and roads that were not made of dirt, but something else that he could not quite tell what was. He stared, lips pressed together in a tight line. The image flickered a few times, and then faded back to the seascape he _was_ familiar with. He shook his head, as though he could clear the remembrance of the image from his mind.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was becoming more constant, and he still could not figure out what it was. He had figured out it was a city he was seeing, but beyond that he had no idea. The buildings were not from his world, were not _possible_ in his world. He could not say what the people looked like, for every time the image came, there had been no people, and he had only seen the roads and buildings.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he clenched his eyes shut, refocusing himself on the task at hand.

Altaïr turned and checked one last time over the boulder before he sprinted from the cover for the fortress's wall, and without missing a step scaled up the vertically-set stones three steps before jumping from that third step best he could and grabbing onto a stone that was not set evenly into the wall. He quickly found a foothold and handhold for his free hand before he could slip and began scaling the wall as easily as if he had been born to do it.

**III**

"That is it! You are getting better!" The young man sidestepped out of the way of a swipe of the practice sword from his opponent, making it seem as though his opponent was getting closer at hitting him, but in reality was having no trouble dodging the harmless weapon.

"You keep saying that, but we both know you are not trying. How am I supposed to get better if you simply play with me as you do?" His opponent asked, a look of concentration on his face, though halfhearted.

Ezio smirked and made his move, stepping in closely and bringing his own practice sword against his opponent's quickly. In a quick, circling-movement, he had his opponent's sword spinning out of his grasp into the air, and clanking woodenly to the dirt below.

Ezio held out his hand to the fallen sword as though it were an example to his point.

"My friend, you _are_ getting better, but if I were to treat you as my equal, then you would learn nothing." Ezio lobbed his own wooden sword over to where the other had landed and stepped forward, clasping his opponent on the back as they walked towards the exit of the practice ring together.

"You are learning the steps, and you are learning the technique. Speed and strength will come later." Ezio assured him before they parted ways, Ezio's young opponent to wherever his home was, and Ezio to his own villa.

The practice ring was on the edge of the city of Roma, out of the way of foot traffic, but easy to find for those that wished to practice, observe, or learn.

It had been a few years since the events of Roma and Ezio's last enemy had fallen. Now, he was done. He owned a villa outside of the city, and he trained assassins to carry on the legacy that had been passed on to him, though this had become more infrequent. He still partook in missions, and he led the Brotherhood, but he was not as involved as he had once been.

Though he hated to admit it, he was getting older. He just couldn't continue doing what he had been doing when he was younger. The fact was that he wasn't young anymore. He needed to grow up, as much as he hated the idea. He needed to take responsibility for the life he was now leading, the same thing his father had done, but he would not make the same mistakes.

Ezio walked to the stable closest to the practice ring, where he had left his horse in the care of the stable boy there. The boy retrieved the white stallion and handed the reins to Ezio.

He mounted the horse gracefully and took off in a trot for the northern fields outside Roma. He glanced over his shoulder to take one final look at the grand city as he left it in his wake, always loving the view that was there to greet him.

He frowned in puzzlement, as the sight he received was not the one he was used to. In place of Roma was the skyscape of a city unlike any he had ever seen. Towers of metal, taller than any he had seen before, rose to meet the sky in place of the tall church towers he usually recognized, with lights that were not made of fire dotting their peaks. The horse slowed to a stop when it felt the reins grow slack, and Ezio turned in the saddle to get a better look.

As he moved, the scene flickered and faded back to that of Roma.

Ezio shook his head roughly and pressed the palm of his head to his forehead, like he could push the thought out of his head.

He had no idea what it had been. A city, that was easy to figure out, but it was not Roma. At least not _his_ Roma.

Ezio turned to face forward again, his eyes narrowing in thought as he kicked his heels into the horse's sides softly. As the horse started back into a quick trot, he glanced over his shoulder once more only to see Roma again.

"It is stress…" He reassured himself.

**III**

A metronome counted the seconds that passed by, never yielding, never changing, a soft click accompanied by a pendulum swinging back and forth on its mechanism. It sat atop a plain black piano. Sitting on the bench at the keys, Lucy Stillman watched the metronome, thinking to herself. Nothing else mattered in the room but the constant click of the metronome, and the piano in front of her.

She didn't even know where she was, she didn't care. For once in the past few months, she was relaxed, at peace. She couldn't even remember how she had ended up in this place and she didn't _care_.

A voice at the back of her head said this was all odd, that something was wrong, but she didn't want to listen to it. She felt like there was something she was forgetting, something that was important that she needed to take care of… But she still found herself _not caring_.

She cared only about the piano keys under her fingers, this instrument that she hadn't played since she had been a girl in junior high. It was something she had loved, but something she had lost time for when she had entered high school.

She counted the beats off: One, two… Three, four… One, two… Three, four…

She did not even realize she was counting these beats oddly, in a way that did not actually flow with the song she was planning to play.

She closed her eyes as she played the first note, which flowed into the next, and the next.

The song was a common, well-known composition. Moonlight Sonata, composed by Beethoven. It was the work she had always been the best at playing. She did not need the music in front of her in order to play it; she knew it easily by memory.

It was a haunting melody, one that someone couldn't play without the slightest bit of emotion. It needed to be played with emotion, without it, it would be an entirely different piece of work.

"Miss Stillman."

Lucy was broken out of her trance. Her finger missed a key, and the music collapsed. She felt her body tense up, not at her name, but the voice that spoke it.

"I did not know you could play the piano so well."

Lucy didn't open her eyes, she didn't want this peace to end, but she knew it had to.

"You have much explaining to do, Miss Stillman." The voice continued. Now, Lucy turned her head slowly to reply.

"Vidic," She breathed, a tone of impatience there, but she barely got the name out before the older man had his hand around her throat, pushing her roughly back against the piano and causing a few notes to be sounded harshly. The metronome fell off the side of the piano at the sudden shove that caused the entire piano to jolt.

"You have betrayed the cause. You have let Abstergo down. And here I was, vouching for you, giving you the honor of being there by my side as we retrieved the Pieces of Eden." The man snarled, his cordial tone turning sour. He spoke as though she owed him something, as though he had done nothing wrong.

In his eyes, he hadn't. In his eyes, she owed the world to him. In his eyes, the world would soon belong to him, even if she didn't give it to him.

"Abstergo is a corrupt cause. You are a monster." Lucy gasped out, her own hands grabbing onto the man's wrist to relieve some of the pressure.

"I will admit honestly that I am a monster, Miss Stillman. I hold no illusions about that. I am not here to be a kind person, nor am I here to make you _believe_ I am a kind person. But Abstergo… Abstergo is here to open the way to a new civilization, a better place." Vidic's tone went calm again, and his scowl slowly turned into a pleased smirk that would make anyone feel uncomfortable.

"I _am_ here, Miss Stillman, to eliminate Abstergo's enemies and opponents." With those words, Vidic pulled a hidden blade from inside his coat with his free hand, and without any more ceremony, thrust it into her stomach, releasing her throat as he did so.

Lucy looked down at her stomach, framing the blade in her stomach with her fingers. It was surreal. She had never really thought about how she would die, but the idea that she would be _stabbed_ had never occurred to her.

When she looked up, Vidic was gone. In his place stood Desmond Miles, the look of shock and fear on his face a mirror of her own. The piano was gone, and she was suddenly on her feet again, standing straight. There was nothing around them but darkness.

Time seemed to stand still, and she could tell there were words that Desmond wanted to speak that time simply wouldn't let him. As she fell backwards, the hidden blade on Desmond's arm withdrew and he fell with her, only when she hit the ground did he hit the ground on his shoulder and roll onto his back, away from her so he didn't land on her.

As her head hit the ground, the fantasy vanished and reality snapped back into place.

Lucy bolted upright from the laying position she had been in, eyes wide. Within a moment, she regretted the movement as pain shot through her abdomen, but didn't lie back down. Instead, she took in her surroundings. She was in a hospital bed, a heart monitor sitting nearby sounding her vitals with a rhythmic 'Bleep, bleep… Bleep, bleep…'

No one was in the room with her, and from the looks of it, it was a regular hospital room. It didn't look scientifically advanced, nothing out of the ordinary. She had no idea where she was, but for the love of whatever higher being there was, she hoped she was in a regular hospital. She hoped Rebecca and Shaun were alright.

She hoped Desmond was alright.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N:** Thank you for the positive feedback, the +favs and reviews are all greatly appreciated, you have no idea. As long as everyone is willing to keep reading, I'm willing to keep writing this story to the end. Once again, thanks to HodgePodge11 for agreeing to beta this story without fully realizing what he has gotten himself into. ;D  
I'd also like to make a quick note to inform those of you following the story on how I'll update. I don't have time to update one day after the other, after the other, after the other. I can't write that quickly, and I can't get on my computer that much. Not to mention I really like to reread the chapters dozens of times to make sure everything is semi-decent. My goal is to update every week, and I'm not going to give you guys false hope that I'll update more than that per week, so I just wanted to let ya guys know how that was going to happen so you don't think I've abandoned the story after the first two chapters. Anyway, moving on...

**Disclaimer:** Legally, I own nothing but the mistakes (And please, by all means, take them and use them how you will).

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**Chapter II**

"Mr. Miles, I believe you have relaxed enough."

Desmond jumped about a foot off the floor at the voice. He wasn't sure how long he had been alone in this room, and he wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious before that, but he knew it had been a while too long, and he had been alone that entire time.

Hearing another voice besides his own for the first time since the events at Juno's temple made him realize how alone he had been, and how alone he had felt, this entire time.

Desmond had been leaning against one of the walls, sitting on the floor with his eyes shut; but not asleep, only thinking. He opened his eyes to look to see whom the voice belonged to.

The man that had entered Desmond's cube had entered through a door that had suddenly appeared in the wall Desmond was leaning against, only inches away from his left shoulder. He was surprised that he hadn't heard it open, but quickly got past this and he made a note of its location for future reference.

Desmond looked up at the man who was standing in front of him and again, he was surprised at the fact that the man had been able to get so close without making any noise that would have alerted Desmond of his approach.

The man was tall, about a head taller than Desmond himself, but he had no bulk. He was a stick, more or less. He was a very tall, talking, walking stick.

His hair was turning grey, and thinning out. His face was worn-looking and sallow. The man offered a liver-spot covered hand to help Desmond stand up. Desmond ignored the hand and stood up on his own, slowly and cautiously.

The man took no offense and simply took a step back, folding his hands at the small of his back and waited for Desmond to finish his assessment.

Desmond didn't miss the fact that the man knew what he was doing, but continued to take in the man's appearance and attire.

The man was dressed nicely, expensively, in a well-tailored suit, shined dress shoes, and-

Here Desmond's heart missed a beat and he felt himself tense up more than he had already been. The man was wearing a lab coat, and over the right breast was the Abstergo logo.

"I'm back in Abstergo…" Desmond breathed, a tone of defeat evident in his voice. The man knew the statement was redundant, and sought not to make Desmond more uncomfortable or annoyed by making a rude comment, instead he tilted his head to the side and continued to watch his prisoner with a patient smile.

He could almost see the wheels turning in Desmond's head as the few facts began to fall into place to complete the puzzle that had been Desmond Miles' last few days.

When the last piece had been safely tucked in next to the rest, Desmond straightened up and looked up at the man, though he did it in a way that clearly showed he held no respect for the taller man.

"Where are Rebecca and Shaun?"

"I do not know. Mr. Hastings and Miss Crane were not there when we found you." The man saw no point in giving Desmond vague answers, he knew the next few questions would be inevitable, and he was perfectly prepared to answer them. The man had a slight accent, though Desmond couldn't place what it was or where from. He could barely tell it was there, and the man clearly spoke English fluently enough for his accent to go unnoticed.

The formality of the man's tone reminded Desmond a lot of Vidic's, but the way the man spoke to Desmond was far less condescending than Vidic. The man respected Desmond, and it was clear through his tone of voice, though for what reason, Desmond wasn't positive. The man spoke to Desmond as though they were equals.

"What happened to…-" Desmond hesitated, and the man could see a light of sorrow enter Desmond's eyes, something that caused his own curiosity to pique.

"What happened to Lucy?"

The man frowned thoughtfully.

"Ah, Miss Stillman," The man nodded his head in recognition after a few moments, "I have no idea. She was not there either- or, rather, her _body_ was not there."

This correction in how the man referred to Lucy caused Desmond to visibly become uncomfortable, but it didn't take him more than a second to recompose himself. It didn't occur to him to ask how the man knew what had happened to Lucy, and instead he moved away from the topic.

"Where are we?"

"We are in an Abstergo-provided research facility. I am sure you can understand that I cannot give you its exact location on the globe."

Desmond shrugged his shoulders in slight agreement. He expected nothing more.

"Where's Vidic?" He continued, not really caring about the older man's wellbeing, but more curious as to why this man was suddenly his caretaker, if that was even the proper word.

"Vidic?" The man seemed a bit surprised by this question, "Why, I have no idea, but I assume he is spending his time more wisely than he had been. Our superiors were not pleased to learn how far ahead he had allowed you and your cohorts to get, and how lost he had become." The man shook his head, almost in pity of Vidic.

"You mean… Vidic isn't in charge?"

"Heavens no!" The man exclaimed, a look of astonishment on his face simply at the idea of it.

"Vidic was in charge of a small branch of Abstergo Industries, he held power, I admit, but the power he held was slight, and he was far from being at the top of the food chain, so to speak. Abstergo's reach is far beyond that of one man, in one building, located in one city. We are _everywhere_, Mr. Miles. I thought you would have known that better than most. My superiors simply wished to wait and see if Vidic could redeem himself. Clearly, he could not and I was forced to intervene, and here you are!" The man held his arms out in presentation to the cube around them.

Desmond narrowed his eyes as he thought about this.

"So…" Desmond stopped. The man had relaxed himself back into the position he had been in before with his hands folded at the small of his back. He smiled encouragingly at Desmond, only wishing for him to get everything off his chest now so they wouldn't have to come back to it later.

"So," Desmond repeated, "Who are _you_?"

"I, Mr. Miles, am unimportant. I am one man in a larger picture. In fact, you will hardly ever see me, so I hope you excuse me for not attaching myself to yourself so easily by exchanging names, just as I will call you nothing more than 'Mr. Miles'. I know it is probably an unnecessary precaution, but fair enough, I hope?" The man almost seemed genuinely regretful for having to be so impolite.

Desmond sighed, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. Truth be told, he didn't care who this guy was, anyway.

"Fine. What are you going to do with me then?"

"Once again, I apologize, but Vidic made the mistake of informing you of too much. He had revealed too much of our grand plan, and how we had hoped to go about following it. Why, by the time he was done, you knew our project better than many of the people _working_ on the project. I will not make the same mistake. For you to help me in my task, you do not need to know what that task is."

"How do you expect me to help you then? No, actually, why do you even _think for a second_ that I will help you?" Trace amounts of anger and impatience began to rise in Desmond's voice.

"Mr. Miles, you do not have a choice," The man told him sadly, as though he had thought Desmond had been aware of this already, "I do not need your consent, but as we are gentlemen, I had hoped that you would do me the honor of letting me treat youas you deserved to be treated: as a human being."

Desmond laughed harshly, "You can forget it."

"Mr. Miles, please, just make this easier for both of us-"

"Easy? The last three weeks of my _life_ haven't been easy, let's not start now!" Desmond retorted.

"Mr. Miles-"

"No, that's it, I'm leaving." Desmond replied simply. The man frowned apologetically.

"That is not your decision to make."

"It is, and I'm making it." That said, Desmond grabbed the front of the man's suit roughly and pulled the taller man towards the wall behind himself, throwing him at least off balance so that Desmond could dodge out of the way and duck through the door.

Desmond wasn't positively sure what his plan was, he wasn't even sure he _had_ a plan, but he knew he had to get out of there. Or, at least, try to get out of there.

The man caught himself easily, pressing a hand against the wall to regain the slight balance that had been lost, and only watched as Desmond disappeared through the door, shaking his head regretfully, "So be it, Mr. Miles."

**III**

"My friend, you do not seem to be in your right mind…-"

"But I am, Leonardo! Why do you think I came to you, and not someone else? Because you are the one who can best explain to me what _could_ be going on!"

Ezio was in a panic, pacing back and forth, arms flailing around wildly. He was seeing things. It wasn't normal. At first, he had thought it had been stress, but now he wasn't so sure. Besides, he wasn't stressed! On the contrary, he was as relaxed as ever. Or, at least, he _had_ been, until he had dwelled on the topic of his sanity for a while longer.

"Ezio, what you are describing is-"

"Impossible, improbable. I know, I know." Ezio finished, waving Leonardo's words away.

He was not sure why he had come to the artist. Maybe because he knew the man, his friend, was a genius. Ezio had not been lying when he had said that if anyone could explain what was going on with him, it would be Leonardo. Besides, Leonardo was the one who had been with Ezio since the beginning. They had not been very close in the beginning, and they had begun to drift apart again as of late, but Ezio felt he could still confide in him and ask for his help.

"What do you expect me to do, Ezio? My research of the… Human condition I suppose, comes not from the liveliest of sources, and the human mind? That is something I have not even begun to study yet! Do you know how long it would take me to study something like that? Of that magnitude? I do not want to focus on that subject until I have finished with everything else!" Leonardo exclaimed, holding his arms out apologetically.

"I am not asking you to study me, Leonardo. I am asking for your opinion." Ezio pleaded, ceasing his pacing to look at his friend.

Leonardo put a hand to his head in thought, shaking his head softly. From what he described, Ezio was seeing phantom images, but they were not ghosts. They were both sure of that. He had explained having seen an image of a city, but that had only been the beginning.

The images had progressively gotten worse and more vivid since then, and now, after watching Ezio pace about frantically, Leonardo was positive if the images did not stop, or if they did not do something, that something in Ezio would break, maybe only temporarily, but more likely it would be permanent.

"You said you had always been able to 'see things', even before this, did you not?" Leonardo finally asked. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he looked up at Ezio.

Ezio nodded his head slowly, "Yes. I explained to you a long time ago that I could see people, objects, and runes glowing in different colors. Their true nature revealed, or at least that is what I have thought."

Ezio almost came across as awkward when discussing this point. It was something he didn't talk about often for the reason that he knew it sounded insane. Leonardo, on the other hand, had thought of it simply as a blessing from God.

"Maybe it is connected then? This vision you have, maybe it is advancing, or maybe it is telling you something?" Leonardo offered.

Ezio thought for a moment. The images he had been seeing _had_ been similar to how he had seen people and objects in the past.

"That does not explain the city though." Ezio pointed out, calming a bit now that Leonardo was offering a slight explanation to his recent problem.

"But it does. Maybe _you_ have to put it together as to how it all connects. I cannot explain everything, and I do not even know if this is possible. But if I am correct, I would be more than honored to offer my assistance if needed."

Ezio thought for a moment on this before smiling at Leonardo.

"You have put my mind at ease, if only for a short while. Thank you." Ezio replied.

Leonardo returned the smile, "I am only satisfied that I was able to help you. It is getting late, and you need to rest. You do not need a horse for your return journey?" Leonardo looked at Ezio inquiringly.

"No, my horse is nearby. I forgot to ask, how is your pupil, Guan Giocamo Copratta…?" Ezio stated the name as a question, frowning in distaste at the fact that he knew he had not gotten it right.

"Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno" Leonardo corrected, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, and then leaned towards Ezio, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I should call him _Il Salaino_! He is a thief, a liar, and a glutton. He has stolen more money than I can count, and I cannot even begin to explain to you how much he spends on clothing!" Leonardo looked definitively exasperated, simply at the thought.

Ezio arched a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, an amused expression crossing his face, "So why do you keep him around?"

"He is a good student," Leonardo shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "Who am I to tell him he is not to learn?"

Ezio laughed softly and clasped his friend on the shoulder, "You are a better man than I will ever be for what you do. I wish you luck."

Ezio turned to leave now, chuckling to himself still.

Leonardo ignored Ezio's clear amusement at his predicament, "Remember, if you need any help with this problem of _yours_, do not be afraid to contact me."

Ezio nodded his head, "I will remember, and the same goes for you. Arrivederci Leonardo."

"Statti bene, Ezio!"

**III**

Altaïr had eliminated the last guard that had remained stationed near his target's study. The target himself was not yet in the study, as Altaïr already knew. The general arrived at the same time, every night, between the changes in shifts of the guards. It was an unorthodox method of doing things; the guards left the entire area unchecked for a period of time. The guards never actually saw each other, and they never actually saw their general enter the study.

Altaïr could spend an infinite amount of time going over the problems of this method of security and criticizing it, but the fact was that he appreciated it. It made his task easier, and though he could have gone without harming the guards, he knew it was safer to knock each of them out and hide the body than chance having the general come a tad bit earlier than usual and catch Altaïr in the act of sneaking in to his study.

Small mistakes would lead to a man's downfall, and Altaïr was confident that his would not be tonight.

Altaïr slipped through the unlocked door of the study and closed it soundly after himself. He checked the room quickly to make sure nothing was amiss before slinking over to a shadowed corner where he would wait. He crouched down into a fairly comfortable position and watched the door he had just entered through, his ears attune to every sound in such a way that would alert him of someone's approach long before he would see anything.

He knew the general would not see him when he entered. It was not a matter of finding a hiding place so much as being unremarkable. You do not move. You do not make a sound. You barely breathe. You are a fly on the wall, and you are nothing more until the opportune time comes. Of course, he couldn't have just stood in the center of the room like a statue. The shadows the corner he was in provided was simply the final touch necessary to keep him hidden.

Of course, this was not Altaïr's strong suite, but he was skilled at in nonetheless.

The hardest part was simply remaining patient and remaining still. Of course, once the general entered, Altaïr would only have to wait until the man was facing away from the corner Altaïr was in. But the anticipation, the adrenaline that was still coursing through his veins from infiltrating the fortress, caused him to fidget ever so slightly, even as he tried to calm himself.

All of this was in a perfect world where things went according to plan. Where the general was on time, where a guard was not early to switch shifts, where a servant wasn't strolling by just at the right moment.

There were thousands of different things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong. It was inevitable; there were simply things you could not predict. The only thing one could do would be to roll through the fall and get up running. The problem was, you never knew what the complication would be, or when it would present itself.

That was something else that was setting Altaïr on edge. He knew something was wrong, he could feel that something was wrong; he just had absolutely no idea what it was.

Not yet.

**III**

"Lucy Stillman?"

A nurse poked her head in through the crack in the door she had made, not wishing to disturb her patient who had only just recently regained consciousness, but required to check on her routinely. The nurse knew all patients in this situation enjoyed this time alone to reminisce about whatever it was that was on their minds. Life. Friends. Family. Love. Lost or to be gained. A run in with death would do that to a person. However, this patient was different. That was made profoundly clear when the nurse noticed that her patient was fully dressed, now fastening the remaining top buttons of her white blouse.

The nurse wasn't even positively sure where she had gotten the clothes, or who had provided them for her.

"Going somewhere?" The nurse continued without waiting for Lucy's reply. She played it off as curiosity, but it was clear by her tone that she knew how to handle situations such as these and knew how to subdue a patient if that situation so arose.

Lucy glanced over at the nurse who now stood in the doorway, a clipboard in one hand, with her arms crossed over her chest, and watching her expectantly. She didn't block the entire doorway; on the contrary she was smaller than Lucy and barely took up a quarter of it.

Lucy shook her head slowly as she picked up the jacket that lay on the hospital bed that she had taken the liberty to make, simply because it was unlike her to leave something a mess. She didn't have time for this.

She had been conscious for twenty-four hours now with no complications. The doctor had told her she'd been unconscious for twenty hours before that, two of which had been spent put under while she was in surgery and the surgeons repaired the damage to her stomach. Lucy had reached the bare minimum amount of time needed for a patient to recover after a surgery. She could walk fine, at least she had found that to be true so far. The doctor had informed her of the different medications she would need to take for the next few weeks. The doctor had also explained to her what she could and couldn't do during her period of recovery. The only reason the nurses hadn't specifically come to inform her she was free to go was because no one had come to claim her, to help her.

Lucy turned back to the nurse as she pulled the jacket on tenderly, not straining any muscles that shouldn't be strained. The nurse wasn't a very imposing person. She was younger than Lucy, but Lucy got the impression that this girl had had to deal with much larger and more frightening would-be escapists in the past. Even so, Lucy didn't think of her as a very large threat.

"Did you come here with a message, or were you simply checking up on me?" Lucy asked her, a tone of clear impatience in her voice as she ignored the nurse's own question.

"I came here to inform you that you have two visitors."

"Oh, fabulous, I can see them _on my way out_." Lucy replied, her tone of impatience turning to that of sarcastic excitement.

"And what makes you think you are being allowed to leave?" The nurse replied with mock curiosity.

Lucy smiled at the nurse, though it was as insincere a smile could ever be, and motioned slightly to the clipboard.

"I'll bet you all the money in my jacket that pinned to that clipboard is a release form, signed and ready to go."

The nurse scoffed, then looked down at the clipboard. She flipped through a few of the papers.

"I'd hate to break it to ya, honey, but there's nothing here…-" The nurse began, but as she looked up she realized her patient wasn't there anymore. She frowned and whirled around quickly to see Lucy walking briskly down the corridor, towards the waiting room and exit.

"Hey! Get back here!" The nurse shouted.

Lucy waved a hand over her shoulder, "My mistake. It must be at the nurses' stations. I'll be sure to pay you back on my next visit."

She ignored the nurse's shouts and commands to halt, and was aware there were footsteps behind her, picking up pace to catch up with her.

"Why even bother _checking_ the nurse's station. Clearly I must be a deranged patient. Why waste time?" Lucy muttered sarcastically. What was she going to do? Punch the nurse for doing her job? She was aware she was being difficult, but she _really_ didn't have time for this.

"Stop!" Someone commanded as they grabbed onto her arm and jerked her to a sudden halt. It wasn't the same nurse, and the sudden twisting movement the person grabbing onto her forced her to make caused her to wince slightly as the stitches in her stomach were strained.

Lucy spun around, fully prepared to break whoever's nose it was that needed to be broken, but caught herself, stopping her hand in mid-flight.

"Rebecca?" She breathed, relief flooding through her. Rebecca was flinching away slightly from Lucy's hand, a sheepish smile on her face.

"Hey, Lucy, nice to see you." Rebecca replied, a bit hesitantly.

"Y'see! She wouldn't have stopped if it was me." Shaun pointed out from behind Rebecca.


	3. Chapter III

**A/N:** Chapter Three... Yay! I'm surprised I made it this far, to tell you the truth... I'm surprised you guys made it this far, but grateful and happy, nonetheless. Sorry to disappoint anyone that looks forward to their portions, but Ezio and Altaïr are both absent from this chapter, but will surely be back next chapter.  
And a quick warning, not anything really bad in this chapter, but mentioning/implication of needles, IV's, and such. Nothing too bad, but just wanted to warn anyone who has a problem with that sort of stuff.  
Once again, thanks to everyone who's reading, reviewing, and favorite-ing, it means a lot.  
And thanks to HodgePodge again!

**Disclaimer:** Legally, I own nothing but the mistakes (And please, by all means, take them and use them how you will).

* * *

**Chapter III**

Desmond pulled against the straps around his wrists violently, his jaw clenched in exertion, a furious look on his face.

It hadn't taken long for the guards to catch him, and though he had learned much from following in the footsteps of Ezio Auditore, and even Altaïr before that, there were simply too many of them and he wasn't as trained as he liked to believe.

They'd grabbed him and dragged him to… Here. Wherever 'here' was.

Desmond was still in the same building, the 'Abstergo-Provided Research Facility', according to the tall man, but he was in a completely different area of the facility.

The room he was in was very similar to the prison he had awoken in, but in addition to the band of light around the room where the walls met the ceiling, like there had been in his cell, there was also a pane of glass, across three of the four walls. The fourth wall was attached to the rest of the building and there would then have been no point in the window continuing across that wall.

In addition to the band of glass that served as a window, there were a few other differences.

On the wall opposite the entrance to the room were dozens of monitors, all extremely thin and made of a clear plastic. They must have been touch screen, because the people working at them were able to drag things from one monitor to the other with their fingers, but there was also someone at a keyboard, typing away frantically, causing different images, programs, and other data to pop up and close out at different intervals on all of the monitors.

The room was also much larger than Desmond's cell, and more rectangular. His cell had been roughly the size of a square, one bed, and no bathroom hotel room.

This room was similar in magnitude to that of a generously sized high school classroom.

Everything else about the room was the same as his cell. The walls were all white tile, as was the floor. The door, once it had slid closed, seemingly melded into the wall so that Desmond would have never known it was there had he not been dragged through it only a few minutes ago.

There was one more difference, actually.

In the center of the room, with wires all bundled up and wrapped in protective tubing running along the floor to connect to the computer system somewhere behind the wall, was an Animus.

It was more similar to the one Desmond had used with Lucy, Rebecca, and Shaun, but it did have similarities to the first one Desmond had used, back with Vidic.

It looked similar to a patient's chair at a dentist's office. It was a dentist's chair from hell, Desmond found himself thinking unhappily.

The padding was an off-white color, without a smudge of dust on it. The metal framing it and holding the chair together was all stainless steal. The armrests were thick, and where the Animus 2.0 had had one plug-in on the right armrest, this Animus had two, one for each arm.

This Animus had a line of glowing, circular sensors down the center of the chair, which would follow Desmond's spine, reminiscent of the Animus back from Desmond's first stay with Abstergo. There was also a clear plastic shield, made of the same plastic as the monitors it seemed, which was currently around the back of the headrest, but would rotate to the front once Desmond was plugged in.

There were also, Desmond noticed with a bit of despair, a head restraint, leg restraints, and cuffs for his wrists.

**I**

There he sat now, strapped in and ready to go. The people working at the monitors had hardly noticed him when he had been dragged in, and the guards had only stayed long enough to strap him in and then had taken their leave.

Desmond fell down against the chair, having been pushing himself away from it while trying to free himself. Now it was only him and the workers whom he hadn't even seen the faces of yet.

They hadn't plugged him in. His arms were sitting inside of the frames attached to the armrests, which would shut, stabbing him with a few small needles he knew, but they were currently sitting open.

"How do you expect me to comply to whatever it is you want me to do?" Desmond asked the unresponsive workers. They, unsurprisingly, ignored him.

"Your compliance is unnecessary, Mr. Miles."

Desmond jumped again, just like he had when he had first encountered the Tall Man. He had been watching the workers at their monitors, and the one at the keyboard, waiting for an answer and hadn't noticed the man enter.

"What do you mean?" Desmond asked, ignoring his own outburst.

"I mean, we are going to complete our task, whether you are willing to help us or not." The tall man replied as he walked around the Animus to observe one of the monitors over the head of one of the workers.

"You obviously don't know how this works, then." Desmond scoffed.

"You were planning on making your ancestor jump off a cliff, get killed, do something that would desynchronize the memory, I assume. And I'm sure you thought yourself very clever, coming up with that plan, and I do respect your effort, but it won't work." The tall man replied with a shrug, not turning to look at Desmond. He said it matter-of-factly, not trying to insult Desmond but simply telling him the truth.

He finished reading something on the monitor he had been observing before he turned around to face Desmond again, folding his hands behind his back. Desmond was watching him, trying to hide the stunned expression that had crossed his face. That _had_ been the plan, actually.

The man didn't find Desmond's bemusement amusing, and simply went on to explain.

"I told you before, Mr. Miles, that this is a research facility provided by Abstergo. Abstergo provides it, yes, but otherwise Abstergo hardly ever interferes with the research here, and vice versa. Regular employees of this facility have no idea the goings on of Abstergo, such as the study of the Animus, ancestral memories, and the Pieces of Eden. As a matter of fact, all of those employees have been redirected to a new facility so I can carry on with _my_ research uninterrupted with secrecy while having all the resources in this facility at my disposal." The man was pacing slowly around Desmond, though remaining in eyesight of Desmond and never venturing behind him.

"Anyway, this facility primarily focuses on researching and developing pharmaceuticals. Many helpful medicines and drugs have been put on the shelves in the past few years due to this facility, and those drugs and medicines have saved thousands of lives. So, you see, Mr. Miles, Abstergo's investments are not all bad." The man stopped at Desmond's feet and looked at him. Desmond looked uninterested at this point.

"I see you are not interested in Abstergo's more humane projects… Well, the significance of my explaining this to you is this," At this point the man pulled a vial from his lab coat pocket and held it up for Desmond to see and observe. It was a drug of some sort, that was easy to tell from the vial and wrapper around it that held all the information about the drug, but Desmond couldn't read any of it. The drug was clear and seemed to have the same viscosity of water.

"And what is that?" Desmond asked, unimpressed.

"This is a recent development here. The scientists developed it just before they were relocated, conveniently enough. This is a drug, more specifically, a hallucinogen, but not only that it is also a depressant. Its intended purpose is to counter post-traumatic stress disorders, help those that have nightmares due to the disorder to sleep and such." The man explained, observing the vial himself. He looked back at Desmond after a few moments. Desmond still seemed highly uninterested. He still didn't understand the significance of this all. The man didn't comment on Desmond's lack of understanding.

"Mr. Miles, what this drug will do is make you see whatever you want to see. It will cause you to fall asleep, and you will fall asleep and into a fantastical world. You will be completely unaware of this world in which you had just left. Everything you have learned of in the past few hours will vanish from the front of your mind when you fall asleep, and as we will be plugging you in to the Animus simultaneously, you will dream of your ancestor. You will be controlling your ancestor, yes, but you will be going through the motions. I assure you that you will have no intention of throwing your ancestor off course whilst reliving their memories."

The man had a tone of pity in his voice. Desmond could tell that the man wasn't bluffing, and he wasn't making any of this up off the top of his head. They had done this before. Desmond paled a few shades to an unnatural grey-tan color.

A look of sorrow crossed the tall man's face as he continued.

"The reason this drug has not been approved and is not available for use by or in a hospital, even under the most intense care and watch, is because it has not been perfected yet. To elaborate further, is highly addictive. You will develop a dependence on this drug almost instantaneously, and the withdrawal symptoms are lethal to one's mental health. I…-" The man hesitated a moment, "However, I do not know the exact effects it will have on _you,_ Mr. Miles."

The man slid the vial back into his pocket and walked around so he was standing next to Desmond.

He motioned to one of the monitors, on which was a word file that had been pulled up. Desmond looked at it, but he couldn't read it.

"I read Lucy Stillman's observations through her course of working for Abstergo, including those about yourself, and I must say, I find her observations on the 'Bleeding effect' and the story of Subject 16 very disturbing. So, you must understand the predicament I have been put in. I do not like using the Animus enough as it is because of how dangerous it is, and though this one is updated and has advanced beyond belief, I do not know how this will all affect you, in short term or long term. I do not know how it will progress, or even digress, the 'Bleeding Effect', and I have no idea how the Animus or 'Bleeding Effect' will react with this drug."

Desmond had been watching the man now, his face blank. He wasn't sure how to react to the news of this all. It was all very surreal. The idea that he would be forced to relive his ancestor's memory against his will was unthinkable. He had never even begun to ponder over the possibility of it in the past, but here it was, being thrust at him, and not only was it an idea, it was about to be executed.

"You could just _not do it_!" Desmond shouted, pulling against the restraints on his wrists again, though it was still futile.

"I wish I could, but that is not an option." The man replied. Desmond hadn't noticed that the workers at the monitors and keyboard had stopped and were watching the tall man expectantly. One of them cleared their throat hesitantly.

The tall man turned.

"Ah," He sighed, glancing at each monitor, "Everything is set then?"

The question was directed to the worker at the keyboard. The fellow nodded, grimfaced.

The tall man nodded in return and looked back at Desmond.

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Miles, for how this is all unfolding. I gave you the option to do this humanely, to do this all with your mind intact and your will as free as could be. But instead, you refuse and you are forcing me to do something I'd much rather not do. I respect you, Mr. Miles, for how far you have come and what you have accomplished, but objectively speaking: It's only business."

With this said, the man closed the frame around Desmond's left forearm. The needles inserted, and Desmond winced slightly, though the pain was familiar and similar to that of the Animus 2.0. The man then walked around to Desmond's other side and closed the frame on his right forearm. There was no pain. Desmond frowned in puzzlement. The frame beeped softly, and then a bright light, like one you would find in a paper scanner, ran along the inside of the frame, illuminating his arm brightly on all sides.

It beeped again once the light switched off, having reached his elbow. Then, without warning, three needles shot deep into his arm, causing him to flinch dramatically.

"What the _hell_?" Desmond exclaimed without thinking.

The tall man didn't reply, and instead took the vial out again, took the top off, and inserted the vial into a hollow space on the frame, specifically designed for this purpose.

The frame beeped one last time as it registered the vial being inserted and then it began humming softly, mechanically. Almost instantaneously, Desmond felt the intruding sensation as the liquid filtered into the veins of his arm, mixing with his blood and swiftly causing a tingling sensation that slowly crept up his arm. The liquid was cold, and it caused him to shiver involuntarily.

Desmond struggled, trying to pull free, even against the pain of the needles digging into both his arms, but he couldn't break free.

He found himself beginning to shake, his hands trembling violently, and sweat began to bead across his forehead. He wasn't sure if this was due to fear or a side-effect of the drug.

"I truly am sorry, Mr. Miles." The man repeated, "It was a pleasure to meet you, but I am quite confident you will have absolutely no recollection of our two encounters upon your awakening. That in mind, good bye, Mr. Miles."

The man checked one more thing on one of the screen before he walked out of the room without another word to anyone.

As the door slid shut, melding back into the wall, Desmond's eyelids grew heavier, and before he could muster up the will to fight against his sudden drowsiness, he was asleep.

**III**

"We really need to get out of here…" Shaun commented, his voice full of the impatience that Lucy knew so well.

Lucy and Rebecca exchanged a look, and then Rebecca glared at Shaun and told him to be quiet. After the momentary embrace and relief of seeing each other for the first time after Lucy's near run-in with death, Lucy and Rebecca had begun discussing other things.

Lucy had asked if they had signed her out, Rebecca had said that they had signed all the necessary paperwork, and had also picked up Lucy's prescription for painkillers, which Shaun had held up at this point for Lucy to see. Lucy had asked if they had been the ones to drop clothes off for her, and once again Rebecca affirmed this.

Now, Rebecca was explaining why Shaun and herself had been unable to visit Lucy and assure her that they had been nearby.

"We've had to move from place to place every night since we got here," Rebecca explained, "As soon as we get back to the motel room we should probably pack up and move again. At this point, we're not sure who to trust, and Abstergo is still nearby, so we couldn't just wait around for them to find us."

Lucy was wondering how they could just leave her in the hospital then, but she didn't have to voice the question as Rebecca spoke on.

"This hospital was probably the safest place for you. At this point, Abstergo's gotten itself into some not-so-nice situations, and they'd probably go mucking around in a garbage dump before they come looking here, it's way too public for their taste."

"Yes, we're terribly sorry we had to leave you here by yourself and all, as though you're entirely incapable of handling yourself for a few days, but we do _really_ need to be moving on. There are more pressing matters to discuss, things that should be spoken about _in private_." Shaun stated impatiently, looking at them both expectantly, daring them to oppose.

"Shaun's right." Lucy agreed, then glanced over her shoulder, and after a moment looked down the corridor in the opposite way. She motioned for Rebecca to lead the way; she had absolutely no idea where to go, or where they were planning on going.

Rebecca marched on almost instantly, heading for the parking garage. Shaun fell into step next to Lucy, and he kept on glancing over his shoulders to make sure no one was following them.

"So," Lucy began hesitantly, she felt like she knew the answer to her next question already, but she needed to ask it.

"So, what happened to Desmond?"

Shaun faltered in his step, and Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at Shaun. They exchanged the look that told Lucy that they knew exactly what had happened to him, but weren't sure they wanted to tell her for fear of upsetting her.

"We should wait until we get to the van…" Rebecca told her in an even tone, her voice trailing off.

Lucy nodded her understanding and remained quiet the rest of the journey, watching the floor tiles a few feet ahead of her.

**I**

"Where is he?" Lucy asked as soon as she had closed the door of the nondescript black van after herself. Rebecca and Shaun didn't need to task to know whom she was talking about. They both hesitated, exchanging a look that made Lucy furious. They knew. They obviously knew, and they weren't trying to hide the fact that they did know.

Rebecca started the car silently while Shaun fidgeted awkwardly in the passenger's seat next to her. Lucy didn't ask why Shaun wasn't driving and only watched them both through narrowed eyes, looking at each of them in turn.

"What happened?" Lucy tried, deciding to take a broader approach. Now, Shaun took a deep breath as though preparing for battle more than preparing to tell a story.

"We're not quite sure what happened," Shaun admitted, "We know you had been stabbed, and seeing how Desmond was lying next to you, his blade drawn and covered in blood, we could only assume that-"

"It wasn't his fault." Lucy stated, cutting Shaun's sentence short. Shaun nodded his head slowly in agreement.

"We don't think it was. We think that when he picked up the apple, he had en encounter similar to the one Ezio had had with Minerva. We haven't been able to clarify this with Desmond because… Well…" Shaun hesitated again, and he and Rebecca exchanged another infuriating look.

"Because Desmond's gone." Rebecca finished, her tone blunt, looking at Lucy through the rearview mirror.

"What do you mean 'gone'?" Lucy asked, though she had a feeling she knew exactly what it meant.

"Well, we couldn't wait around," Shaun began slowly, "And seeing how I had to carry you, and Rebecca clearly couldn't carry Desmond, we had to-" His voice grew silent. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"We had to leave Desmond there." Rebecca finished for him, not looking at Lucy through the mirror this time and keeping her attention focused on the road ahead.

"By the time we got back, the place was riddled with Abstergo officials. We waited around until they were gone, but by then it was too late." Shaun continued quickly before Lucy could exclaim her displeasure at any of this.

"So Abstergo has him, again?" Lucy asked softly. Both Shaun and Rebecca were a bit taken off guard at the softness of her voice and Rebecca glanced at her through the mirror again with a look of worry on her face.

"We'll get him back, Lucy," Rebecca promised, "Just like you got him out before."

But Lucy was shaking her head, covering her eyes with one hand as she leaned her elbow against the door of the van.

"Do you know how long it took me to become an assistant to someone like Vidic?" She asked Rebecca and Shaun. They didn't reply.

"It wasn't just a wave of the hair and bat of the eyelashes." Lucy added sarcastically.

Shaun glanced at her skeptically. Lucy caught the look and glared at him.

"Vidic's a creep, but he's not _that_ much of a creep." Lucy told him.

"I was lucky enough to be there when they had Subject 16. I was lucky enough to be there when they got Desmond, and it was only out of luck that I was able to get him out." She shook her head, "It can't be done the same way."

"We're not going to just leave him in there, though, are we?" Rebecca asked.

"No, we're not going to just leave him there. But we can't just barge in there, either. It's going to take planning, and it's going to take time. Time that I'm not sure Desmond has at this point. I don't even know what Abstergo could want with him, I mean…" Lucy's voice trailed off now and she looked at Shaun, "You didn't get the apple, did you?"

Shaun looked out the window guiltily.

"Well, if they have it, then I have no idea what more they could want." Lucy's tone was somewhat defeated. What else could they want from Desmond if they had the item they had been searching for all along? If they had taken him, it meant that they needed him alive, otherwise they would have shot him and left him at the temple. So what could they want? What could they _possibly_ need?

"It gets worse." Rebecca cut into Lucy's thoughts.

"Why doesn't that surprise me." Lucy muttered.

"They destroyed everything back at the Villa." Shaun told her.

"There were a few drives that went unnoticed, my research was, luckily enough, on one of them. We also have your laptop but…" Shaun looked at Rebecca.

"Everything else was destroyed. The Animus 2.0, all of my data from it…" Rebecca's voice cracked slightly and she grew silent.

"So we're back to square one." Lucy murmured after a few moments of silence had passed in the van.

Shaun nodded. Lucy sighed softly and watched the scenery pass by outside of the window next to her. They were in a rural area. There weren't many other cars on the road either. There wasn't anything else very significant about the area that would tell her where they were, exactly.

"Well, right now we have to worry about getting Desmond out of Abstergo. Please tell me you guys at least have a hint of where he could be?"

Shaun nodded, "Actually, we do. They've stayed local, I have no idea why, but it works to our advantage. I did some research on the area, and there's a research facility in one of the towns nearby. 'The R.T. Feller Abstemious Research Facility'," Shaun recited, "Kind of an odd name I thought, so I dug a little further and found out that it's a facility founded by R.T. Feller, but the facility itself was donated by our pals from Abstergo."

Shaun seemed very proud of himself at this point.

"'Abstemious'," Lucy repeated, still looking out the window, "Not self-indulgent." She fell silent.

The name didn't surprise her. Abstergo believed it was doing something for the good of the world, something that was unselfish.

"I have only ever heard the word in context with eating or drinking. Not the best word I suppose, but it does have a sort of ring to it, and it is similar to 'Abstergo', which is what made be research the facility further." Shaun commented, his pride faltering when Lucy fell silent.

"It makes our job easier," Lucy finally stated, snapping herself out of her thoughts, her tone stating how grateful she was for Shaun's unasked research, "It makes it a lot easier. Now we can focus on infiltrating the place and getting Desmond out of there."

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Rebecca asked.

Lucy looked at each of them. Now she was debating whether she wanted to voice her thoughts or not. She knew they would argue, and she knew they wouldn't like it.

After a few minutes, she finally answered, "You're going to hand me over to them."


	4. Chapter IV1

**A/N:** I'm _so_ sorry this has taken me so long, I swear I haven't abandoned it, I've just been extremely busy. But, I've sorted things out, and have more time to relax and write now, so I should be able to update on time more often now. As a second apology, this is a short chapter, only Desmond's section, but I wanted to update and keep his section separate 'cause I wanted to finally introduce his new ancestor.  
A. I'm trying to keep everything as historically accurate as possible, so if I make any errors, _please_ feel free to correct me.  
B. If anyone guesses when this new ancestor lives, and during what, you'll get a spiritual cookie! (I think it's kindda obvious, but I wrote it. :P)  
Anyway, again, I am really sorry this took so long, and again, thanks to everyone still reading and putting up with that long break! I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and that I don't disappoint you... So without further ado...

**Disclaimer:** Legally, I own nothing but the mistakes (And please, by all means, take them and use them how you will).

* * *

**Chapter IV.I**

Desmond was in the digital Limbo between memories loading into the animus. He was aware of this for only a moment before his mind began to wander. He couldn't remember what he had been doing before this moment. It was like a dream, the moment he woke up and he couldn't remember what had been happening in the dream. It was on the edge of his mind, and just when he was about to grasp onto it, it turned to mist in his hands.

He frowned thoughtfully, dwelling on his worry about it for only an instant before sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He began walking. He was in the animus, he knew that easily enough, and he had begun to associate a general feeling of safety and security while in the animus because he knew that, outside of the animus, he was surrounded by people who wouldn't harm him.

He wasn't sure how long he had been walking. It could have been an hour, it could have been five minutes; he couldn't be sure. This wasn't unusual though because he knew the loading process could take any amount of time. Until the memory was structured, or he was pulled from the animus all together, he was free to roam this void, endless Limbo.

Desmond sighed softly as a digital cloud floated by, the virtual world's equivalent to a tumbleweed. The pixilated cloud moved on further a few more yards before it's black and gray colors flashed to a brilliant white before it broke apart into multiple clouds, each one floating away in its own direction. The white fog drifting across the ground swirled around his legs, harmless.

Everything here was harmless. Everything here was quiet. He was the _only_ thing here, anyway. At least he thought he was.

He pulled his left hand from his pocket to check his wrist for a watch that wasn't there, scowling to himself slightly when realized that he had no way to check the time while here because there was no sense of time in this place.

When he looked up his heart skipped a beat and seemed to shoot up into his throat.

The blonde locks were pulled back into a clean ponytail, the blue eyes were a mirror to the emotion he felt. Her clothes were exactly the same as he remembered, which should have struck him as odd, but it didn't faze him in the least.

"Lucy…" He breathed, though meant as a statement it held a slight questioning tone. She was dead. Maybe she wasn't? How could she be here, either way?

He didn't even know where she had come from, one moment he'd been alone, the next she had appeared, walking towards him.

As she got closer, he could see the emotion clearly on her face, the emotion she wasn't trying to hide or push down, for the first time since he had possibly met her. Relief. Confusion. Joy. Sorrow. They were all there. Everything except the ones he had been expecting: annoyance, anger, impatience, and an unforgiving look of disbelief at what he had done.

As she got closer he wondered to himself why he would have ever thought she would have reacted like that.

Tears were on the brink of falling from her eyes as she finally stopped, just in front of him, and they looked at each other, taking the moment in, still trying to comprehend it. His heart finally relaxed in his chest, only to swell slightly as his mind went over the fact again that she was standing here, in front of him.

"Lucy, I-" Desmond began, holding his hands out as he prepared his apology. Lucy cut him off as she fell into him, wrapping her arms around his torso in a tight embrace, her face buried against his chest.

"I don't blame you, Desmond." She stated honestly, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Desmond was taken off guard for a moment, not sure how to react. Finally, he relaxed and wrapped his own arms around her, leaning his chin against the top of her head.

"I don't know what happened, I tried to stop but I just-," The apology continued to tumble out, but she cut him off again.

"Rebecca and Shaun figured it all out. Desmond, I'm alive, and you're safe, that's all that matters. What happened before _wasn't your fault_."

Lucy leaned back slightly to look up at him, but not enough to break their embrace. Desmond could see that a few tears had begun rolling down her cheeks, but now she had a determined look on her face; she would win this argument, and he wanted to let her.

"I'm just so sorry." He muttered quickly before she could cut him off again, his brow furrowed apologetically.

"I know." She replied before she relaxed into him again, leaning her head against his shoulder now. He kissed the top of her head, and she nuzzled against his neck affectionately. As he placed a few more kisses, going ever lower, she lifted her arms to fold her hands at the nape of his neck.

When their lips finally met, Desmond's eyes were shut. He didn't need to see, he only wanted to touch, smell, taste her. Sight wasn't necessary in moments like this, and all of your other senses were so much stronger in memory than sight, and he vowed to remember this moment.

When he finally opened his eyes as he felt her lean back slightly it wasn't Lucy that was standing in front of him. It wasn't the virtual Limbo surrounding them. He wasn't confused though. It still felt right. The woman in front of him was a stark contrast to Lucy. She had black hair to Lucy's blonde; dark hazel eyes to Lucy's blue.

"_Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi, ma amour_._ J t'adore, ma belle._" He murmured, pulling her tightly against him again.

"_Et je ne pourrais pas vivre sans toi, mon aigle._" The woman replied.

He smiled softly at her and kissed her lightly on the forehead before pulling away. He held her hand a moment longer, his smile breaking slightly with sorrow before he finally turned and walked away, pulling the cowl of the cloak he wore over his head. He glanced once more over his shoulder to see the annoyed look on her face at his leaving, but also the understanding there. She knew he had to go, and she didn't blame him.

He walked along the cobblestone street of Paris at night, his boots barely making a sound on the damp stones. If this all went perfectly to plan, he would return to her early the next morning. If things went poorly, then he would never regret that three of his last words had been 'I love you' and how beautiful she had looked in the simple dress she had been wearing, hugging her arms to try and block out some of the cold as she stood in the doorway of the home; the dim light from inside had been framing her but not brightly enough so he couldn't make out the details of her face.

He would cherish the memory if he lived, and he would replay it over and over in his head as he died. If it came to that.


	5. Chapter IV2

**A/N:** I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, again. D: Instead of going on an on about how sorry I am, and why it's taken me so long, and how I promise to update more quickly (when I probably won't), I'm just going to get on with it.  
NOTE: Yes, I do know that '4.1' would come after '4', but I didn't feel like doing it that way, alright?  
NOTEx2: Ezio is not in this chapter, but Altaïr is. So, sorry to disappoint all the Ezio fans out there.

**Disclaimer:** Legally, I own nothing but the mistakes (And please, by all means, take them and use them how you will).

* * *

**Chapter IV**

He scaled up the building in no time at all with little fear of anyone seeing him; at this late hour it would be quite the surprise to find many people out and about. He perched on the edge of the roof, a silhouette against the dimly lit, cloudy sky. He heard someone approach, but didn't bother to turn and look to greet the person, instead he simply waited, watching the streets below through dark brown eyes.

"All has been quiet. There has been talk of a plan against the diplomats, but as of yet nothing out of the ordinary has risen up." The man behind him spoke in French, his voice soft as to not carry too far.

"Something will happen, be sure of that." His words were sure, they weren't an assumption, and they weren't a question. He knew for a fact that something would happen that would cause need for their support. He checked the hidden blades on either of his wrists that marked him as an assassin; he then checked the gun mechanism on both.

He glanced over at his friend as he crouched down next to him, scanning the streets below and the rooftops in front of them.

"Why do they wish to do this? What could they possibly hope to gain?"

He glanced at his friend, a skeptical look that doubted the honest question within his friend's words. However, the look was hidden beneath the cowl of his cloak, and the other man didn't notice, nor did he look as though it were a rhetorical question.

"Power," He replied, "It is all about power. It has always been about power. The day that man is no longer in search of more power is the day that everyone will finally be at peace." He paused then to sigh and look up at the sky for a few moments before finishing, "Until that time, we are needed to keep the will of man in line and remind those that forget that there is a limit to the power they seek."

"_Something's wrong!"_ A disembodied voice rang through the air. The two men didn't seem to notice.

"_What do you mean 'something's wrong'?"_ A second voice asked, annoyance evident within the words.

"_I mean, it's happening again. The memory's desynchronizing and it's about to skip again…"_ Even as the words were spoken, the scene around the two men on the rooftop began to degenerate to nothing more than a skeletal outline.

"_This isn't supposed to happen!"_

"_I __**know**__ it's not! But it's happened every time now! This isn't even how his ancestor dies in real life! I have no idea where the memory is coming from!"_

The scene began to restructure itself, now forming indoors rather than outdoors as before. It seemed to be the same time of night as before, given the dark setting outside a large window at the end of hall.

The man from before, the first man, stood at the end of the hall, gazing out the large window. It looked out onto a cobblestone square five stories below, a place where people gathered during the day around the fountain in its center. His hands were folded behind his back, his legs shoulder-width apart. He seemed relaxed.

A second man turned the corner at the other end of the hall and began walking towards the first man. He wore and expression of rage, and when he drew the sword that had been sheathed at his side it became clear that his intentions were nothing but hostile.

The first man didn't turn around until he heard the second man stop, even so he turned slowly and patiently, clearly not in a rush, and clearly not very fearful.

"Assassin." The man with the sword stated through gritted teeth. The other man didn't reply and simply watched him from under the cowl of his cloak.

"You came here to die, do not deny otherwise." The man added, holding the sword up so it pointed at the other man's throat threateningly.

The assassin glanced at the sword then looked back at its wielder, "I will not."

The few words held enough sorrow to as almost make the man falter in his decision to kill the assassin. His tone was something the man had never heard before: defeated. The man with the sword scowled, and his brow furrowed in slight confusion.

"Why do you give up so easily? What has happened that has caused you no will to live further, then?" He asked impatiently, lowering the sword slightly so it was pointed at the other man's stomach now.

The assassin held his arms out in surrender, "That information is something I hold dear to me, and I would rather not pass it on to someone who is my enemy, but I will give you the basic outline of my reasoning: my honor, and the woman I love."

The man's scowl turned to a frown, "So you would have her believing in a lie? That you died 'honorably' and that you did not simply give yourself up… As you are doing now?"

The assassin lowered his arms to his sides, "Yes."

"That is not like you or your brethren to think. That goes against your creed, does it not?" The man replied skeptically, narrowing his eyes.

"The creed says nothing about this. That is why it has to be like this." The assassin replied calmly, "If the others were to learn how I truly died then the brotherhood would collapse, that is why I trust you to keep it secret."

The man thought for a moment, and his expression softened slightly, "So, you are just going to let me spear you then and I can be on my way?"

The assassin smirked sadly, "No, of course not."

He lunged forwards suddenly, taking the man by surprise, and slid around the sword easily so it barely scratched his cloak.

He pressed his palm to the man's shoulder and waited a moment, enough for the man to regain his wits and try to shove the assassin away while simultaneously trying to slash at him with the sword.

The assassin triggered the hidden blade attached to the underside of his forearm and the blade plunged into the man's shoulder before he was thrown slightly off balance by the man's shove and had to step back to regain his balance while also avoiding the clumsy slash of the man's sword. He retracted the blade as he did so. The man gasped in pain and the scowl returned to his face.

The assassin took another step back and held his arms out again, though his body language was clearly challenging now.

Anger overtook the man, causing rage to fuel his actions, and the man lunged forward this time. The assassin didn't dodge the sword aimed for his opponent's stomach. He then stepped forward to meet the sword, reaching out to pull the man further towards himself as to plunge his own hidden blade into the man's side.

There was a moment's pause as numbness overtook the both of them. Then the moment passed, and they each stepped backwards, away from each other. The assassin looked as calm as ever. The man looked horrified, an expression of terror twisted with pain and rage distorting his facial features.

"This was not apart of the plan." The man growled through clenched teeth. The assassin tilted his head in a careless gesture.

The man stepped forward again to shove the assassin roughly, falling to his knees as he did so as to put his entire weight behind the shove.

The assassin didn't have the strength to keep his balance and tried to grasp onto some part of the wall to keep from falling, but there was nothing to grip and he fell back against the large window.

The thin glass cracked and then broke at the weight it wasn't used to holding.

The man watched as the assassin fell into open air, and then out of his sight.

He heard the sickening thud and crack a few moments later, moments that felt like an eternity, and he couldn't help but be overcome by a great sense of sorrow.

The assassin had welcomed death, he realized. The assassin had not feared it, he had been prepared for it, and throughout the entire exchange that had not lasted more than a few minutes, the assassin had looked nothing but calm.

"_His neurological and heart readings are beginning to fail…" _The disembodied voice returned as the scene began to degenerate again, leaving an outline of the man leaning against the frame of the window looking down at the ground below in the digital fog of the animus.

"_Put him back in!" _The second voice replied impatiently.

"_No! That's what did it to him, and he'll flash back again like he's done every single time so far!" _The first voice replied angrily.

"_Do you want to be the one to tell the Doctor why you didn't keep him in the animus?"_

Those were the last words spoken before there was silence, followed by a sight of only blackness.

**III**

Altaïr glanced around the room for the umpteenth time. He was positive that, by now, he had every detail of this study burned into his memory. Whether he would need that information for the future had been yet to be decided, but he highly doubted it.

Something wasn't right. Someone was off schedule. That someone primarily being his target. He knew something would go wrong; it was simply how the law of the universe worked. Nothing would be made easy; nothing would ever be that easy. He gritted his teeth together thoughtfully. He'd been in this spot for the past…- He didn't even know how long, but he knew it had been far too long from the change in the angle of lighting that streamed in through the window, and every second he spent remaining here further simply put himself at risk. He needed to move, but he didn't know where to just yet.

If he were compromised, if a guard found him, then all of his planning would have been for nothing. His target would move to a new location. The guards would double their efforts and fill in the holes of their defenses that Altaïr had known well enough to take advantage of. He would have to go through everything again.

He had to make the decision, though. He could remain there and wait until something that he wasn't sure of happened, or he could move now and get out; come back later.

The assassin glanced around the study once more before slowly straightening up, only enough to transfer himself from the crouching position into a more maneuverable position.

He leaned forward to sprint for the open window, which he had been facing to best calculate how long he had been there.

He scowled slightly as he mounted the windowsill in an easy movement, preparing to leap forward into open air and down to the waters below in a jump he had done multiple times before. A leap where he let the higher being that was choose his fate, whether to survive or not. A leap of faith.

However, that higher being seemed to have other plans in mind, and an arrow pierced through his shoulder. The force of the projectile caused him to fall back into the room, landing on his back and knocking the wind out of him. He looked at the shaft of the arrow, protruding from his shoulder, and his face twisted into an expression of confusion. Where had _that_ come from?

The pain didn't bother him so much, he'd gone through far worse, and he reached to pluck the nuisance from his body. He knew that the arrow would keep the bleeding to a minimum while in his flesh, but he also knew that if he left it in it would just get in the way and become cumbersome. Besides, once he jumped into the waters at the base of the cliffs, they were cold enough to quickly slow the bleeding…

As he pushed himself back to his feet, regaining his breath quickly, he realized his thoughts weren't all that prioritized.

He flicked the arrow away from himself and looked around the room.

Arrows don't just _appear_. Someone had aimed that at him. Someone had been waiting for him. Someone had known he would be there and would try to escape through the window, which meant he couldn't go out that way.

He soundlessly drew a knife from a hidden sheath and turned around, keeping his back to the wall next to the window he had just been planning to jump from.

Altaïr felt his hand beginning to shake, and looked down as it simply lost all feeling and the knife fell from his hand, clattering to the floor. On a regular day, he would take this as frightening, out of the ordinary, but at the moment he couldn't think anything beyond the thoughts of 'Why would you do such a thing, oh scarred hand! Why would you betray me in such a way!'

The scary part was that his hand _replied_.

'You cut off one of my _fingers_ in favor of a _blade_! I have every right to not let you order me around anymore!'

He shook his head as he realized those were _not_ his normal thoughts and tried to shake away the cloud that was beginning to form over his mind.

He felt cold suddenly, then very hot. He found himself becoming clammy; sweat was beginning to bead across his forehead. He looked at his shoulder, where the arrow had pierced his flesh, and watched in dismay as a black, thick liquid oozed from the wound where blood should have been flowing.

A poisoned arrow?

He didn't realize he was falling forwards until the ground was there to catch him, unyielding and unwelcoming. He tried to push himself up, but lacked the strength and only succeeded in falling back onto his stomach with a grunt of annoyance.

So maybe this target wasn't as ignorant as he had first assumed. Altaïr grimaced as he rolled onto his back, trying to keep the pressure off the wound that was now beginning to burn. Maybe he was losing his touch and becoming more arrogant than he would let himself admit. Maybe he was reverting back to his old ways.

His eyes rolled up as he heard the door to the study open, trying to catch sight of his enemy, but even as his enemy approached he began to fade, and when the man was standing over him, the only thing Altaïr could make out was a black, blurry shadow.

**III**

"Lucy… Lucy… Luce!"

Lucy was jolted out of her reading when an overstuffed pillow knocked into the side of her, causing her to scramble for something to hold onto or be forced to let gravity pull her off the bed she was sitting on.

Lucy glared at her assailant and chucked the pillow back at Rebecca, though not with the extremity as the initial assault by the other woman.

"I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes." Rebecca commented.

Lucy motioned to the news magazine local to the area that she had been reading up until that point, "I'm looking for anything out of the ordinary."

"You're looking for clues." Rebecca commented. Lucy frowned. She didn't like to think of them as 'clues' because she felt like that term had taken up a somewhat childish regard.

She decided to ignore the correction, "Abstergo always tries to cover things up, but they can't cover everything up, reporters always have a way of getting the information out there without giving specifics and upsetting-" Her voice trailed off when she realized Rebecca was trying hard to listen, "Did you want something?"

Rebecca perked up a bit at Lucy's defeated and somewhat impatient tone.

"Yeah, I was wondering," She paused for dramatic effect and waited until Lucy shot another impatient glare at her before finishing, "I didn't know you could read Italian." She motioned to the magazine.

Lucy looked down at it, and then at Rebecca for a few moments like she couldn't believe her concentration had been broken just to be asked _that_. She sighed and turned back to the magazine, "I can speak, read, and write dozens of languages fluently, it's part of the reason why Abstergo hired me in the first place."

"Dozens?" Rebecca pressed and added an innocent smile when Lucy glared at her again. Rebecca was bored, that was easy enough to say. They'd come back to the motel where all of Shaun and Rebecca's things were, and now Shaun was in the other room, plotting their route on a road map, and Lucy had been searching through magazines since she had finished taking her shower. Rebecca had nothing to do at this point. She was the tech, and she had no technology to work with at the moment.

Lucy rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and decided to humor Rebecca, "French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, German, Dutch, Swedish, Latin, Arabic, Russian, Aramaic, Thracian, Egyptian, Armenian, Greek, Filipino, Gothic, Korean, Polish, Serbian, Albanian, Bulgarian, Danish, Croatian, Hebrew, Finnish, Hindi, Anglo-Norman-"

"Okay, I get it." Rebecca cut Lucy off as she went over the list again in her head, frowning slightly as she did. Lucy watched her, waiting for the question to come up that she knew would.

"Egyptian, Thracian, Gothic… And some of the others you said, those are extinct languages." Rebecca commented. Lucy simply nodded as she looked back at the magazine in front of her.

"So why do you need to know them? Actually, how did you even _learn_ them?" Rebecca asked.

"They weren't always extinct. We should know better than anyone the importance of people, items, dates, languages in history."

Rebecca nodded slowly, and then her smile grew again, "So we've had it wrong."

Lucy looked at her inquiringly.

"We thought Shaun was the brains of our group, but I bet you're smarter than him, to be able to keep so many different languages in order."

Lucy smiled and shook her head, looking back at the magazine, "I doubt it."

"Do you know how much that would annoy him? To know that _you_ know more languages than him?" Rebecca pressed gleefully.

Lucy scoffed slightly as she turned a page in the magazine to only be greeted by the back cover, "We have other things to be worrying about than the best way to annoy Shaun." She pointed out.

Rebecca smiled slyly, "I _always_ have time to annoy Shaun." That said, she bounced off her bed and walked towards the door leading into the other room.

Lucy frowned as she flipped the magazine over to look at the front cover, searching for something.

"Rebecca…?" Lucy began slowly. Rebecca stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and looked back over her shoulder.

Lucy looked up from the magazine, "The doctor told me I had only been unconscious for a little more than two days, but this magazine is dated wrong by about…" He voice trailed off when she noticed the expression had changed on Rebecca's face.

"Lucy..." Rebecca began slowly, walking back towards her slowly, her eyes wide. Lucy got the impression that Rebecca was now treating her like an injured animal that would flee at any sudden movement.

"You were unconscious for more than a week."


	6. Author's Note

So, this isn't going as well as I hoped it would. Not to say I don't like how the reaction base is to the story, because I'm so happy that so many people are taking the time to follow this story by reviewing and fav-ing it, it really means a lot.

However, I just _really_ don't have the time to write, so instead of putting myself on a deadline where I'm exhausted half the time while I write, can hardly think straight, and I dread doing it because I'd much rather go to sleep, I'm going to stop.

Not to say I won't ever finish the story. On the contrary, I plan to finish it, but I also plan to revise it, and I plan to finish it before I post it on here, so that way I'm sure to post at a constant pace.

Not only that, but for anyone who keeps strongly up to date with AC news, you'll know that details for the next game (Assassin's Creed: Revelations) have been announced. Honestly, I don't want to make my own universe that parallels to the series, and if I keep writing the story the way I'm writing it, and it ends up (which it will) conflicting with Revelations, that's just going to bug me so much.

(If you're interested in reading some details about the game, you can probably look it up on google and get a good amount of info.)

So, here's what's going to happen that really affects you guys right now: I'm going to leave my story up for a while, but when the time comes for me to post the revised, finished version, I'm going to delete this version, so be forewarned.

If anyone has any questions, complaints, concerns, wants to have the ending ruined so they have closure, send me a PM and I'll most definitely reply.

In other news, you may see me post some other stuff on here, but I promise you that everything will be short stories, probably one shots, nothing will be up to the scale in length to this story.

Anyway, take care all! Until I write to you again!


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